Supreme
by busy pushing up daisies
Summary: "They stay, because they deserve nothing else."- sasusaku. unrequited love.


-they stay, because they deserve nothing better. - for an instance, she feels like she loves him again, but it's only a temporary excursion, of past fancies and childish delight, and revulsion stays her hand- sasusaku. mentions of sasunaru, narusaku.

* * *

He could have been the village bachelor, most desired yet untouched, most loved yet lonely, the mysterious shadowy ninja that everyone loathed to envy, that everyone respected, if only a grudging acceptance because of his past- and for a brief moment _he was_- but that is a time long forgotten, where even paper cannot hold the moment.

-_someone burns the picture of team seven while he's away_, and when he returns, he pretends it's not fitting-

He could have had friends, but he shunned the people who offered it, he could have had love, but he denied himself the weakness, and it's too late, too late. Bitterness cripples his growth (let us pretend he had any, that he's still not that little scared boy, desperation curling his actions), his resentment lashes out on everybody, those who would at least offer pity turn away in disgust, like he is a petulant child demanding compensation for the trouble he, himself caused- _spoiled, _some sneer, _pathetic_, some whisper. _Traitor_, they all agree.

"_It's alright," he_ whispers, and that hurts most of all. Even when the other enters the room lively, rowdy, offering friendship when he has no desire for it, wishes for him to leave, the blonde just smiles, pats his back like he's still twelve (_and, oh how he wishes he was)_, says, _"_Hey jerk, I didn't bring you back for nothing, alright? Cheer up. Sakura would hate to see you like this."

She hates to see him at all, but the blonde doesn't mention that, and he doesn't know if he should be amused, disgusted, or thankful. He settles for none. And, if-when, the blond tries to offer solace by a hug, or anything needing contact for more than three seconds, the blond leaves the room with a torn shirt, and a smile.

"I hate you," he says with all the vehemence he can manage, blood staining his lips, and the blonde only smiles, offers, "They all did, once."

Then, the other leaves, closes the door behind him, and he listens to the spring in his steps, cheek flat against the cool tiles.

"I hate you," he said, when he only meant, _"I don't deserve you."_

In some twisted way, he thinks Naruto knows, but doesn't acknowledge it, refuses to give up. It's funny, a trait he so despised and respected when he was younger, would only continue to be despised and respected in the future, by the other villagers, by himself.

His eyes dull from their red, closes at memories best left untouched surface, of smiles, and laughter, of yellow, gray, and pink. _Naruto doesn't laugh as much anymore_, he realizes, _good._ And ignores the thought that it may be only him.

_I don't deserve you._

* * *

She could have been loved, respected, have a handful of admirers, both as a powerful medical ninja, and a charming girl. But then her mentor slipped away, and it wasn't really her fault for adopting her drinking passion after _he _came back, wasn't it?

Every time he emerges from his recluse, (though, rarely), she tips the sake back, encourages the burn, because if her hands weren't busy doing something else, they might find themselves around his pretty white throat, and _he_ wouldn't like it very much, so she stills, drinks.

Shizune finds her unfit, tells her to take leave until she gets out of this pathetic shell (s_he never does)_. She ghosts the memorial often, and finds it funny that not all of the names fit there (_there's nothing really humorous, but not all war veterans leave their psyche intact)_.

Naruto is there as well, although not as often, he turns to her with that same spark when they were younger, of childish desire and respect, but it has dulled over time, damaged by her offenses, and she wishes she can make it spark again. (some small part of her knows she can, but the shy girl edges nearer, smile prettily, and she can't find it in herself to do it).

"You shouldn't drink, Sakura," he admonishes gently, frowning, "it'll hurt you, and your good looks!"

She laughs, pats his shoulder patronizingly, and she ignores how the white cloth upsets her (_she should be proud, he got his dream, but she's always been petty, and what about her dream?)_, "Idiot, be glad you're authority, or I'd hit you. Besides, I have a few tricks up my sleeve." (she senses them above, leaves rustling at some idle threat that she doesn't mean).

"I wish they wouldn't do that," he mutters, glancing up at the trees. "Oh, sorry, Sakura, I'm just not used to anyone watching over me, heh."

She smiles softly, thinks, _You deserve it._

"Well, go then," she shoos, "go do your job."

"Ehhh," he whines childishly, twitching his fingers, "I just got over my cramps. Fine. See you later Sakura!"

She doesn't watch him leave, keeps her eyes level with the stone. _I don't deserve you._

Lee realized that some years ago, and although they maintained mutual respect and admiration, his spark has dulled too, more so than Naruto's.

"Ha," she says, and drinks.

_I don't deserve you._

* * *

He's still on the floor when she enters, dried blood coating the wooden floor. She closes the door gently behind her, eyes his figure speculatively, before shrugging, and entering the kitchen.

He scoffs, manages, "Aren't you supposed to be a medic?"

"Aren't you supposed to be strong?" she drawls, and he hears the fridge opening and closing, hands shuffling for something. He grunts, disgruntled.

She enters, bottle in one hand, a tub of ice cream in the other. She notes the stained floor, tells him to clean it up.

"No."

Her eye twitches, "What was that?"

"Why don't you clean it up?" he replies, tone bland, and turns his back on her. He smirks, because he knows what will happen next, this is what he needs, and although Sakura knows and acknowledges the bait, she goes along with it anyways. They both need excuses.

Later, she will gather her torn clothes, bloody and all, grab his if he so asks, and dump them in the trash. She will go outside, repulsed by the dingy air of the apartment, won't offer a farewell (he doesn't know when she'll be back, and, really, he doesn't care).

She will refresh the alcohol in the cupboards, yearn for warm hands instead of cold ones, but she knows the latter will be back _home_, her lips curl around the word, upsets her pale face.

Later, he will still, rest his eyes. Then, he will sit up, clean the sheets (he does not like the smell that lingers there), lounge in the living room, one hand draped over his eyelids.

Eventually, he will leave, so it does not seem like he is waiting. He will meet the blonde, undoubtedly, no matter how many coincidences Naruto spouts out. He will sneer, tell him off, because he needs this just as much, it keeps him alive, pain and hurt, and he yearns for it again, for the challenge, the rivalry.

But death wasn't lingering around the corner back then, and the friendship will never rekindle, he knows that, no matter how much Naruto's smile suggests otherwise, his coat tells him as much. In a way, they both met their dreams, but he never dreamt that a simple dream, a desire, would be so much better than a thoughtful one.

Naruto smiles, rubs the blood from his lips, and in the same moment, sweeps his hand across his face. (he is calling off the dogs, he knows, and can't help a smugness)

Naruto's touch ghosts over his skin, offering comfort, offering e_verything_, and he stills. An instance later, the blond draws back, but the touch still lingers there.

He sneers, turns away, as the blond laughs.

_I miss you._

* * *

Later, Sakura will meet the blond, no matter how many coincidences he spouts out, and he will pout at her, laugh when she grins.

He will offer her a free ramen, and she will refuse, and he will insist with a smile, and she will accept, (she needs this just as much, she yearns for it again, but there is a wall where there used to be a bridge, and oh, how pathetic)

They will converse about trivialities, inane matters, before returning to the real topic.

"Is he doing okay?"

She will tense, but huff, "You tell me. I can smell him on you, you know. I'm not stupid."

His eyes will narrow, but ease several moments later. He will say softly, "I can smell him on you, too."

She will not answer, and his eyes will stare at her, _judging her, and she hateshateshates_ that look, from everyone, from him, especially from him.

He will turn back to his empty bowl with a half-smile. "He's doing better, I think. But I don't live with him, so, I don't have much say."

She hates the implications, the accusations behind the statement, but will remain silent.

"Anyways, he isn't the center of the universe; I'm worried about you Sakura."

"What?" she will scoff, "think I can't defend myself against a cripple?"

"Don't call him that," he will rebuke harshly, before his eyes dim, and shift, exhales. "No, no, I just, they worry about you Sakura." _I worry about you._

"And, crap, I've never been good at this emotional shit anyways." He will reach for a hug, and she will hesitate before wrapping around him, remembering a pain she still longs for.

"I'm always here, you know," he will offer, voice buried in her shoulder, warm breath ghosting over skin, she will laugh warmly.

He will draw back, but the touch will still linger. She watches him leave, coat blowing in the wind.

_I miss you._

* * *

_The first: _A forced silence.

"Did you know Kakashi died? I know he wasn't much of a teacher, but damn, that's like killing me for even looking at you the wrong way. Oh, probably shouldn't give you any ideas," she laughed deliriously, ruthlessly.

He was silent, finger twitching to the cadences in her sentences.

_The second:_

"I loved you, you know," she said jovially, fingers curling around a bottle.

"I've always hated you," he replied, and maybe that hatred escalated to respect, but that was the past.

She giggled. "Cheers to that!"

_The third:_

"Do you enjoy fighting a blind man?" he snapped, as the floor cracked underneath her fist.

"Always!"

And somewhere, along the jibes, the insults, the brawls, they woke up next to each other, and this is where the tradition starts. She will leave, and eventually he will too.

But they always come crawling back for they deserve nothing else, no more, no less.

Is it love? Perhaps, maybe, uncertainly so.

It doesn't matter though; they will stay because they deserve nothing better.

* * *

**A/N:** it's funny, i prefer sasunaru yet i write more sasusaku stories. ah, well, i guess i prefer naruto single since he's too good for either of them. flames expected, i guess. review, much appreciated.


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